Seated on her ornate throne at her husband's side, Anne was silent as the day's issues unfolded. Farmers and noblemen alike slowly passed by their feet as the king held court for the first time since his recovery. The bite marks on his skin had faded entirely, and, although it didn't show on her face, Anne rued what his recovery meant for her personally. In the days that had passed while his strength returned, the cardinal's threat had never faded from her thoughts. Day and night, she'd run through every option she could think of to counter the cardinal's impending attack. She was at a loss, and her nerves were raw as a result.

Deliberately, to appear nonchalantly loving although it was all for show, Louis reached over and brushed his hands over hers. Smiling by rote, she cast a look at him, ever the attentive wife. The look in his eyes disgusted her; he was ready to bed her, and she would have no choice in the matter. Giving him another smile to cover her distaste, she looked away, casting her gaze across the room to see anything else but that lecherousness.

As if summoned by her thought, there was Elijah Mikaelson near the back of the hall. Her thought instantly returned to her defense against Cardinal Richelieu, and the makings of an idea blossomed in her mind. Her throat constricted as she held onto the sliver of hope.

In that next moment, Niklaus Mikaelson appeared behind his brother, making her throat constrict for another reason entirely. She chose to believe it was disgust.

She wondered if he felt her eyes on him when he turned to look at her a moment later, meeting her gaze. Her eyes darkened as their gazes locked, and just as she was going to look away, the slightest of smiles quirked the corner of his mouth upward. His blue eyes glimmered with a light she couldn't interpret, or chose not to.

Feeling her stomach coil inexplicably into a knot, she hastily broke eye contact with him and tightened her grip on her throne. There was something overtly suggestive in his gaze that she chose not to take part in, although she still felt his eyes raking over her from across the massive hall. As hard as she tried, her stomach wouldn't stop coiling, and she couldn't ignore the blatant difference in her body's reaction to that look versus the hungry look Louis had given her only minutes before.

One made her feel like a piece of livestock. The other made her feel like a woman. She willfully refused to examine it further.

Louis was her husband and the king of France. She must obey that, even as she felt the disgusted clench in her chest when he reached over to squeeze her hand to silently tell her it was time for them to leave. Rising to her feet beside him, she plastered on her well-practiced, genteel smile as he dismissed the crowd. She carefully avoided making eye contact with Klaus again as Louis pressed a hand to the small of her back and herded her from the room. She glided alongside him, numbness settling over her as he took her hand to drag her impatiently to her bedchambers. This sort of bedding, sex for the purpose of reproduction, was never done in his rooms.

Every moment of the act was a well-practiced maneuver on her part. Every exhale, every gasp, was choreographed after two years of this.

As her back collided with the bed beneath him, she moved her body through the steps of her dance. Nothing about having sex with him had ever been about her pleasure, only his and only for him to make an heir. She doubted he would bed her again once she finally had his child - except perhaps to create a spare heir should something befall the first - and she found far more relief in that than she would ever admit out loud.

Once he finished, he rolled off of her, landing on his back with a triumphant exhale. Silently, he commended himself on a job well done, although he'd taken a total of five minutes to finish and hadn't once noticed he gave her no real pleasure in the meantime.

They lay side-by-side in the bed for a long moment before he rolled up onto his side to face her. "The cardinal expressed his concern for your safety," he mentioned, his brows etched with concern she was sure wasn't genuine. She was mildly surprised by how quickly Richelieu had acted. Her stomach tightened nervously; now was the time for her to act.

"He reminded me that the beast which haunts our halls has already attacked you once. It could attack you again: a queen carrying an heir." He reached over and spread his hand over her belly as if the heat of his palm would make his seed propagate within her. She fought the urge to get sick.

"I would rather stay by your side," she argued gently, sliding her fingers over his hand and expertly ignoring the clamminess of his skin.

"What better place is there for a queen than by her king's side?" she asked, schooling her features into devotion for him.

"I would rather you be safe until the threat has been removed," he countered immediately, as if he'd prepared for her retort.

With her heart racing, she shifted closer to him, utilizing her womanly charms as she ran her hand up his arm.

"Where could I be safer than by your side?"

She was desperate to stay, to provide some filter between him and the cardinal. She didn't trust the cardinal and often doubted if he was truly a man of God at all. Unfortunately, she couldn't voice her concerned because Louis would never believe her. All she could do was run interference between them, as she had since their marriage.

Louis smiled patronizingly at her and pressed his hand into her belly again before leaning over to kiss her forehead. "Let us men be your champions and make the palace safe for you again. You will be safe at the summer palace, and when it is safe here again, you can return to my side."

Sighing inwardly, she felt a cold dread flood through her along with the realization that she had no way to win this argument.

"Louis…" she breathed his name in one last act of desperation.

"Anne," he said firmly, his eyes going cold. "This is final. The future of France must be safe." His hand on her belly felt like a vice now, and she knew arguing would be futile.

"You'll leave under cover of darkness, this evening at sunset. You may choose which of your ladies may accompany you, and I will send a small contingent of musketeers with you as well."

He brushed a hand absently over her blond hair before sitting up in the bed. "You'll have nothing to fear, my queen." And with that, he stood from the bed, effectively dismissing her as he gathered his clothes and left her bedroom.